


I Was Tired...

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: Clint Barton Bingo [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Police, Sleepy Cuddles, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 09:27:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19196143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: The reader comes home to find the police outside their house after one of Clint's parties ends badly.





	I Was Tired...

You braced yourself against the lamp post, taking a deep breath of the cool nighttime air in a failed attempt to stem your rising panic. Flashing red and blue lights were never a good sign. The last time you’d come home to the sight, you’d found your unconscious roommate Clint being lifted into an ambulance.

In one of his lesser thought out plans, Clint had gone up against an entire gang. He’d put himself between the armed men and a helpless woman (who had, it later turned out, not been so harmless after all, but that was another story entirely) and told them to come find him later than evening and solve their problems like gentlemen. He gave them his address - your address - and said to meet him on his “own turf” if they weren’t too scared. Naturally, they’d turned up that night equipped with baseball bats, tasers, knives and a gun and shown Clint just how frightened they weren’t.

See, Clint was a special kind of person. He believed firmly in right and wrong and had a tendency to stick his nose in other people’s business if it meant protecting someone less able than him. Not that there was anything special about him - he was average height, build, strength and his only real talent was drowning his sorrows in coffee or juggling knives (you’d never asked why he’d learnt to do that; in years of friendship with him, you’d learned some things it was better not to know).

However, for Clint’s ridiculously oversized heart, he lacked the sense to know when to back away from a fight and, more often than not, you found him sneaking back in the forsaken hours of the night, blood pouring from his nose and bruised to an absolute pulp. How he’d survived this long, you had no idea.

With those memories of past incidents playing heavily on your mind, you shoved through the crowd at the end of the street (students really were the worst; the slightest sign of danger and they all came out in force to get a look and photograph it).

A policeman stuck out his arm and stopped you before you could get any closer. “Stay back, please.”

“That’s my house, Officer” you explained. It really was a shock that every constable in the city didn’t know who you were by now. You’d spent enough time flittering in and out of the station to pick up or bail out Clint after a brawl. “Is Clint - my roommate - is anyone hurt?”

“Clint… Tall, blond, holes in his sweatpants? Drank coffee out the pot?”

“That’s him.”

“He’s fine,” the Officer assured you as he walked you down the road to your front door. “No-one was hurt and your friend was more than happy to help.”

You thanked the Officer as you stepped inside, immediately making a beeline to Natasha, your other roommate. She took one look at your expression and grabbed you by the arm to pull you into the kitchen. Shoving a half empty mug of cold coffee your way, she said, “It’s fine. Clint text me before they arrived. I’ve came back as soon as I heard and have been keeping an eye on things.”

“What happened?” You grimaced as the bitter liquid slid down your throat. Being students, you couldn’t exactly afford the best quality coffee but this truly was dire. At least when it was piping hot it was palatable. Cold, it was the worst thing you’d tasted since Clint made chilli and you’d spent the weekend regretting it.

Natasha gently touched your shoulder, drawing all the negative energy from your body. “Someone called the cops on the party and when the constables got here they Rumlow and his lot drinking. They took something, don’t know what, but they attacked the constables. Took half a dozen cops to subdue them all. It’s alright now, though.”

At the mention of a fight breaking out, you asked worryingly, “And Clint?”

“For once, he did the sensible thing and stayed out of it.”

“Where is he?”

“Upstairs.”

Thanking Natasha for the coffee, making a mental note to go and buy something better even if it meant going without toilet roll next week, you slipped behind the police officers taking statements from other party goers and headed up to Clint’s room.

You knocked gently on the door, stepping inside as it swung open on its own. The room was dark, all the lights off, but in the sliver of light you could see his gangly limbs hanging awkwardly off the bed. His gentle snoring filled the room, a soft irregular sound like a baby elephant with the flu.

Rolling your eyes, you crossed the space, careful not to trip on the minefield of abandoned mugs and plates on the floor, and hauled his heavy ass back into bed. Once he was comfortably in the centre of the bed, you turned to leave but stopped when his hand wrapped around your wrist.

Clint pulled you down next to him, shuffling against you and wrapping you in a tight embrace. His stubble tickled your neck as he spooned you, ever overly affectionate when he was sleepy. Breath warm on your skin, he breathed, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You smell nice.” Clint slipped his hand beneath your t-shirt and pulled you closer, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck. He only stopped when you elbowed him in the gut; subtlety did not work on Clint when he was fully conscious, let alone drowsy like this. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll be good. Missed you tonight.”

“Got caught up at the library. Some of us have degrees to study for,” you teased.

Clint was a student like you and Natasha but you honestly couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually been to class. And yet, somehow, he still managed to blag decent scores on every test. It was infuriating. He said he didn’t go to lectures because almost none of the lecturers took any effort to cater for his deafness but you knew laziness was also a big factor in there too.

Rolling over to face him, you traced a finger gently down his cheek. “Wanna tell me what happened earlier?”

“Got tired and people wouldn’t leave so I called the police to complain about the noise.”

You brushed the hair from his face behind his ears and hearing aids, a smirk on your lips. “Calling the cops on your own party is a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think? You could have just taken these out or told people to go home.”

“I was tired. And last time you got angry that I went to bed and left people unsupervised in the house. So really it’s your fault. If you weren’t so paranoid about letting strangers have free reign in our home and didn’t have such nice things for them to steal -“

You scoffed, the both of you well aware that the only thing worth stealing in the house was a slightly used napkin signed by Bruce Willis’s stunt double. Although, in fairness, even that probably wasn’t worth all that much. “Don’t you turn this on me, Clinton Francis. This was your party. Not mine.”

He swallowed nervously at the use of his full name, tugging you closer and staring into your soul as he apologised. You couldn’t say no to those big baby blues. You never had been able to and never would. Clint knew this and used his secret weapon whenever he got the chance. “I won’t do it again. Promise.”

“Mmmhmm. If you do, there’ll be no more parties for you ever again.”

“I’d survive. They’re all so boring without you, anyway, sugar.”

A soft smile turned up the corner of your mouth, reflected in kind on Clint’s face. With a little wriggling, you freed yourself from his koala tight hug and muttered, “Night, Clint.”

“You don’t have to go. You can stay. If you want.”

“Some other time.” You tugged the blanket over his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering a moment longer than was entirely sensible. As you’d done many times, you carefully removed his hearing aids and put them safely in the little pot beside his bed so he’d know where to find them in the morning. Signing as you spoke, you whispered, “Goodnight, Clint.”

By the time you’d manoeuvred your way back through the minefield that was his bedroom floor, Clint had already fallen back asleep. His ridiculous baby elephant snores filling the room once more, you shook your head fondly and quietly pulled the door shut behind you.


End file.
